


Table Manners

by sparxwrites



Series: Lifelines [6]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Antagonism, Arguing, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to play with your food?” </p><p>In which Kirindave is manipulative, Ridgedog is amused, and Strife is generally suspicious of everyone. A small discussion between demigods as to whether playing with mortals is allowed.</p><p>(A sort of missing scene from ep 22 of "Minecraft: The Hard Way".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table Manners

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to play with your food?”

Kirindave looks up sharply, and curls protective fingers over the newly-made taglock kit in his hands. Floating several inches above the ground – as if he’s not tall enough already, as if the floor is somehow not worthy of having his feet touch it – is Ridgedog.

Quite how he got through the several layers of enchanted defences so painstakingly constructed around the base, Kirindave doesn’t know, and it’s an effort not to grind his teeth with frustration. Looking for loopholes in his warding is something he has neither the time nor the patience for right now, but evidently something he will need to do.

He refuses to let the irritation show on his face, however, instead stowing the taglock away in a pocket for later and ignoring the way Ridgedog’s eyes track his hands. Rule number one in any kind of confrontation with the other demigod, he has found, is to not lose his temper. “You’re the one that eats people, not me,” he says, calmly, allowing a small and obviously forcibly polite smile to curl at the edges of his lips. “Remember?”

Ridgedog pouts a little, would look offended if it weren’t for the way his eyes dance with amusement. “I don’t know about _people_ ,” he hums, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. “Hearts, sure, they’re good. But whole people? That’s quite a lot to eat in one sitting. And all the bones, all the little chewy bits…”

He makes a face of mild disgust, kicks his feet up behind him and leans forward so he’s lying on his stomach in mid-air at around shoulder height. “But anyway,” he says, casually angling himself just enough to make Kirindave’s attempts to put away the leftovers from the taglock _incredibly_ irritating. “Enough about me. More about William Strife.”

The Cheshire-cat grin of Ridge’s face is suddenly close to his, _very_ close, and Kirindave can’t quite help the half-step back he takes to put some distance between them. “What about him?” he asks, a little coldly, places the final jar back on the shelf where it should be and slowly lowers his hands to his sides.

The beginning sparks of a spell play between the fingers of his right hand, deceptively innocent dots of light curling between them.

“What are you going to do to him?” Ridgedog’s voice is suddenly serious, propping his elbows on thin air and resting his chin on interlocked fingers. There’s something in his eyes that could be almost classed as protective, a strange fierceness of intensity that makes him look even less human than normal.

Kirindave shakes his head. “I’m not going to do _anything_ to him,” he says, slowly, like Ridgedog’s a particularly simple child. “What would I have to gain from harming Strife? He’s powerful – for a mortal, anyway.” The derision in his voice is plain, none of the false flattery it had held earlier colouring the words, and he turns back to the crafting table to brush a hand across its surface and clear the dust. “He’d be an… irritating enemy to have.”

“Am _I_ an irritating enemy to have?” Ridge sounds positively delighted by the idea, kicking his legs back and forth in excitement. “Am I?”  
“The _most_ irritating,” mutters Kirindave, despite his better judgement, and tries to ignore the giggle of victory from behind him. “But the point stands. I’m not going to do anything to your precious little mortals. Now _leave_.”

Just like that, the teasing snaps out of Ridgedog’s voice. “Ah, yes.” He smiles, knowingly, the expression wasted considering Kirin has his back to him. “ _You’re_ not going to do anything to him, are you? You’re going to take him to the Twilight orest, though, aren’t you, and let the Lich loose on him.”

There’s just a little more truth in that than Kirindave would like – and, more importantly, it’s far more than Ridgedog should know. Far more than he _could_ know, unless he’d been listening in on Kirin’s conversation with Strife earlier.

The knowledge that Ridge must have done just that (and that he’s going to have to find a way to prevent it happening in future) is almost enough to make Kirindave lose his temper.

“You know,” he says in a voice heavy with anger, slamming his hands down on the crafting table and turning around to face Ridgedog – as best he can when Ridge is floating upside-down in midair, gravity dragging his hair and coat downwards to almost comical effect, “I seem to remember making it _very_ clear that you _weren’t welcome_ in my house.”

Ridge laughs, flips the right way up and coaxes his hair and clothes back to their usual, fastidious neatness with a full-body shake, and Kirindave _growls_.

His resolve not to lose his temper is being sorely tested.

“Perhaps you didn’t make it clear enough,” murmurs Ridge, and there’s the echo of a challenge in his voice and his words. It’s not malicious, just _there_ – like a child tugging at the tail of a cat to see how long it takes for it to lash out.

Kirindave’s fingers curl tight against the edge of the crafting table behind him, nails digging into the soft wood of it. “Get out of my house,” he says, and this time he sounds more tired than angry, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a long heartbeat. “Or I will remove you.” When he opens his eyes again, they’re silver-rimmed, iridescent blue and semi-luminous with the electricity curled in his irises.

Ridgedog swallows hard, the faint memory of what had happened last time he’d come into contact with that lightning showing itself as an echo of pain around his throat. “Okay, okay!” he says, sighing heavily and gathering power around him like a second. “I’m leaving. Just remember – don’t play with your food!”

He disappears in a whirl of air and fading laughter, coat swirling around him as he slips sideways through dimensions. The bolt of lightning aimed at his head arcs through the space where he was, and hits the wall instead with the angry hiss of electricity against wood.

With a sharp, irritable motion of his hand, Kirindave clears the scorch marks from the wall, black fading to brown again. “What will it _take_ to keep him _out_?” he asks the room in general, trying to force some of the furious tension from his muscles. It’s not good to let Ridgedog get so far under his skin, he knows, but the other demigod is alarmingly good at working out exactly which buttons to press.

In control of himself again, he draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes. One hand over the taglock kit in his pocket, he warps the world around him with a minor effort of will and slips back into existence just behind Strife’s shoulder.

“Shall we?” he asks, relishes in the way Strife jumps and reaches for his gun and nearly stumbles into the portal nestled amongst the grass. “Calm down, just me.” He holds up his hands, smiles encouragingly, and then tosses the taglock kit over. “For you, as promised. You’ll have the rest when we’re done.”

Strife snatches the taglock out of mid air, turns the little glass bottle over in his hands a few times before putting it away in his own pocket. “Good,” he says, and although he looks a little more relaxed than earlier, there’s still wariness written all over his face. It’s evident in the way his eyes track Kirin’s every move, even if he no longer looks poised to run at the slightest provocation.

At least he’s smart enough to know that a fight wouldn’t fall anything like in his favour, Kirindave supposes.

“After you,” Kirin says, holding out an obliging hand and half-bending at the waist. The portal gleams malevolent violet in the evening light, inky swirls rippling across its surface despite the lack of wind, and Strife’s lips twist in an expression of distaste.

“How kind.” Strife touches the gun at his hip – a brief motion almost reminiscent of someone reaching for a comfort blanket – and then steps forward with the slight whir of motors from his armour, letting the portal swallow him whole.

Kirindave waits for the portal to settle again, waits for the inkspill ripples to subside and leave coiling purple in their wake again, and smiles. Despite his evident distrust, despite his verbal denial of any form of partnership between them, Strife is so easily moved. He’s warier than some of the others, for sure, likely smarter because of it, but he’s hardly a _challenge_.

It’s a shame, thinks Kirin, as he steps forward as well and leaves the cold embrace of the overworld for the comforting half-light of the twilight forest. After all, Ridgedog told him not to play with his food – but really, it’s hard _not_ to, when they make it so easy.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate/working title: "if you're going to eat him just get it over and done with tbh"
> 
> going to place the blame for this one firmly on the [dragon wife](http://sipserino.tumblr.com) and our discussion about the [latest episode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdYJ3WhT3Us) of minecraft the hard way - the words “i can imagine ridge floating around like “don’t play with your food” just out of earshot of will” were written, and how could i resist?


End file.
